One Step Forward
by mosylu
Summary: Even Cisco has bad days. Caitlin's not sure she's qualified to cheer him up, though. Sequel to Two Steps Back.


(A/N) Clearly this was written before episodes 1x09 and 1x10. Also, I am very unsure exactly what Barry's top speed is, so I picked a number out of the air. Doubtless I'll be corrected. There's a third story coming in this series and a fourth, not exactly in this series but set after. I'll keep to my brain's version of events because getting Ronnie-back-from-the-dead in there would change it too much. Lazy fic writer is lazy.

At this time of the afternoon, it was more obvious than ever that Star Labs had once been a working R&D office, and was now a hollowed-out shell. Two employees, one CEO and one . . . asset? What did you call Barry?

Caitlin padded through the rows of emptied cubicles on her way to the lab, her stocking feet silent on the industrial carpet. She never would have taken off her shoes at work before the explosion. Cisco said that her insistence on classic, professional dresses and high heels was kind of crazy. She'd retorted that she, unlike others, saved her casual wear for days off.

He'd said, "Hey, but I'm comfortable," and twirled his chair to attend to the computer that had just binged at him.

She wondered what he would say if she told him it was because she owned maybe one pair of jeans, a couple of old t-shirts, and a single pair of running shoes. Everything else in her closet fell into the classic, professional genre because she honestly didn't see much point in buying clothes she would only wear a couple of times a month. Besides, Ronnie had loved her legs in skirts and heels.

She didn't think Cisco was a leg man. Whenever he gave a woman the eye, he usually focused on her butt. Caitlin was distressingly non-bootylicious, and it annoyed her that this was a source of distress lately.

She found Cisco in the lab, right where she'd known he would be, hunching over a computer muttering to himself. On the table at his elbow was a twisted, blackened piece of machinery that had once been Barry's comm array.

His t-shirt today had a picture of a platypus and the words, "Go home, evolution, you're drunk." It was wrinkled and stained, because it had been yesterday's shirt, too, and last night's. Its tongue-in-cheek message was at odds with the lines carved into Cisco's forehead, and the deep circles under his eyes.

"He'll live," she announced.

"You don't know that," he said without looking up. He'd taken his contacts out at some point and was wearing a pair of glasses with thick black plastic frames somewhere between hipster and hideous.

Certain parts of her anatomy said, _Hello, fine sir!_ She ignored them. He'd rejected her loud and clear, but her stupid anatomy hadn't gotten the message.

"Actually," she said, crossing her arms, "I do know that. When I left the med bay, his vitals were just fine. He should be awake soon."

At that he looked up. "Yeah?"

He looked so hopeful and so doubtful that she rolled her eyes. "Cisco, I have a whole degree that qualifies me to say: Yeah. So stop beating yourself up."

He shoved his hair out of his face. "It was my brilliant idea to install a power cell that ran on kinetic energy. I think I get to do some more beating on myself."

"You tested it to what - three hundred miles an hour?"

"Yeah."

"I did some calculations downstairs. His speed before the accident was four-twenty-eight."

He blinked. "Serious?"

"Yeah."

"Damn," he said. "I thought three hundred was thinking big when I built it."

"His powers are still developing. In a year, four-twenty-eight might be nothing."

"He's in power puberty."

"If you want to put it that way. Your design performed up to a hundred and forty-two point six seven percent capacity. That's not bad, Cisco."

"Until it failed."

"Everything mechanical fails at some point. Isn't that why you have a job?"

He got up and went to a whiteboard already covered with esoteric symbols that meant things like resistance and voltage and strain. "Four-twenty-eight," he muttered. "Wow. I gotta test everything all over again." His tired eyes sparkled for a moment. He grabbed a marker, started to scribble something, and had to stop to take the cap off before managing to write "500 mph" and circling it.

He peered at some of the symbols, shoved his glasses up to rub his eyes, and peered again.

She went and took the marker out of his hand. "Test tomorrow."

"Nuh-uh." He made a grab for the marker.

She evaded him easily, testament to just how tired he was because normally he could grab anything out of her hands, microchip or readout or French fry, and often did. "Barry's going to be fine, but he's definitely got to take time to recuperate. Meanwhile, you've been up for thirty-six hours."

"Red Bull," he said. "It gives you wings."

"It gives you heart palpitations. I'm calling a cab."

"Haven't you been up just as long?"

"I took a nap downstairs last night while you and Barry were geeking out over your latest supervillain." The one who'd gotten away when Barry's comm had gone up in smoke, and he'd run into the wall. That was a problem, but one they could handle tomorrow. "That'll keep me going long enough to get home."

He dropped into the closest chair, which rolled backward a few feet until it bumped into the lab table. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe."

"Totally." She scrolled through her recents until she found the cab company's number from five nights before. She knew it was the right one because the call was timestamped 2:26 am.

That was the night she'd gone home as usual, looked around her too-empty house, and turned around to come back to the lab. It hadn't been Ronnie's birthday, or her birthday, or their anniversary, or god forbid, their planned wedding day. Those milestones had all already passed, and they'd been awful.

No, this had just been a night that she couldn't stand to listen to the echo of her own loneliness anymore.

She'd gone back to the lab, vaguely intending to work, and had wound up watching a couple of goofballs play Mario Kart, trash-talk each other, and eat burritos while she drank too many beers and stealthily ate the extra guacamole. (Cisco always got too much guacamole. It would just go to waste if she didn't eat it.)

The guacamole hadn't done anything to stop the beers going to her head. After Barry had left, she'd crawled up Cisco and kissed him until he'd pushed her away, saying _I'm not drunk enough for this._

She'd snarled at him that they would never talk about it again and stomped out - an excellent exit ruined by the way he came out and silently waited with her in the cold until her cab arrived.

The next day, she'd gone in, hungover and snake-mean, but too proud to call in sick because that would be like admitting that something had affected her. She'd found a water bottle and aspirin at her desk, on top of a new design he'd been working on. And things had been just like they were before.

Except now she knew what it felt like when he licked her upper lip from the inside.

Listening to the phone ring, she looked over her shoulder at him. He'd propped his head on his fist and was staring at the computer screen, but his eyes were unfocused and his mouth hung open slightly.

After she'd arranged for the cab, she hung up and snapped her fingers in front of his face. He snorted slightly and blinked. "Uhm?"

"Ten minutes. Okay?"

"Yup."

"They'll call your phone when they get here. Have you got everything?"

He found his wallet and his keys. She got his contact case from the bathroom and he stuck it in his pocket. "Good to go."

"How do boys get around with so little stuff?"

He shrugged. "We're too busy thinking about our balls?"

She snorted and grabbed his hand to haul him to his feet. It took more effort than she'd expected - he was actually pretty solid. She dropped his hand hastily once he was up.

He focused on her, frowning a little. "He's really going to be okay? You're not saying that to make me feel better?"

"I don't do the comforting lie, Cisco."

He snorted. "Yeah. No. Not your style." He looped his arms around her in a loose hug.

She went still.

He didn't seem to notice. "Thanks."

"For being a totally crappy reassurer?" she asked, trying not to feel the way the ends of his hair tickled her neck or notice the way he still smelled nice even though it had an edge of sweat and tiredness.

"Yep." He squeezed her briefly, then loosened his hold. He didn't back away, though.

She felt stiff and awkward in his embrace, with her arms dangling at her sides. She lifted one hand, torn over whether to push him away or grab on. She ended up resting it lightly on his side, feeling the in-and-out of his ribs as he breathed. "You've done it for me often enough. Not that you're crappy. You're way better - "

He was laughing into her shoulder, soft snuffles against her skin. "Caitlin," he said.

"What?"

In her stocking feet, they stood eye to eye, and he found her mouth easily.

The parts of her anatomy that she had ignored earlier began clamoring for more. Her hand clenched in his shirt, and she wrapped the other arm around his neck, pulling him closer.

He slid one hand down her spine until it came to rest in the small of her back and oh. His warm hand, right there. Fingers drawing circles that she felt right through her clothes.

And his lips, on hers, like five days of pretending just hadn't happened.

She even felt a little drunk again.

The door whooshed. That, and the slight buzz of his chair, were their only warnings before Wells said, "Whoa! I-um-"

They jumped apart like they'd been doing something wrong.

Wells blinked at them. "Caitlin," he said. "Barry's awake."

"How is he?" she asked, pretending that every nerve ending wasn't also awake and clamoring for Wells to go the hell away.

"Seems fine, though you should probably check him over before you let him go home." He looked between them. "But it's not urgent. If you're-"

"I was just going," Cisco said. "Home. Too."

"Right. Good idea. Take the afternoon. See you tomorrow."

"Yep."

Wells looked back at her, mouth opening.

"Be right there," Caitlin said firmly. "Give me a minute."

He looked between them again, eyes sharp and curious. But he just nodded, twiddling the joystick on his chair to turn and roll off down the hallway.

Cisco ran a hand through his hair. "Jeez. Man."

"This is not the end of the world."

"Uh, I'm not sure if you noticed, but our boss just caught us making out."

She laughed a little. "What's he going to do, report us to HR?"

He shoved a hand through his hair. "No," he said. "No, no, I don't want to do this."

She went hot all over, then cold. "You made the first move." Stupid Caitlin. Stupid, stupid. "I'm not the one who kissed you this time."

"Yeah, and it was dumb." He looked fully awake now, kissing and getting caught kissing having done the job of three or four cups of coffee.

"Wow. Thanks." Her voice shook. She hated him. She fucking hated him. And herself. Both of them. God, when was she going to learn?

"Not like that." He rocked back on his heels. "Look."

She hugged her elbows. "Forget it," she bit out, and stalked past him.

He grabbed her arm. She rounded on him, ready to snap his hand off at the wrist.

To her surprise, he held his ground and met her eyes, his jaw set in an unCisco-like way. "Not until I say this. Ronnie was a great guy and you loved him, and the way you lost him was bad, the worst. So I totally support you doing whatever you need to do while you're grieving, okay?"

"Cisco - "

"But not with me."

Whatever she'd meant to say died in her throat.

"If I settle for being your rebound, it - it's gonna be crumbs and I want - " He swallowed. Dropped his hand. Stepped back. "More. So, no. I don't want to do this."

She stared at him.

He held her gaze a moment, then looked away. "I'm going to go see Barry," he said. "And then I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow, Cait."

It was what he said to her almost every evening - "See ya tomorrow, Cait" - and it was like slamming a door between them.

She watched him go, trying to work out if she wanted to open it again.

FINIS


End file.
